


Because of the Moon

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: Blow Job, First Time, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser didn't intend to see Ray at his most beautiful, most vulnerable moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because of the Moon


    _Au clair de la lune,_
    
    
    
    _Mon ami Pierrot,_
    
    
    
    _Prête-moi ta plume_
    
    
    
    _Pour écrire un mot._
    
    
    
    _Ma chandelle est morte,_
    
    
    
    _Je n’ai plus de feu,_
    
    
    
    _Ouvre-moi ta porte,_
    
    
    
    _Pour l’amour de Dieu._
    

It was Fraser’s fault in the first place that there had been enough light in the room to see what he saw.

He couldn’t blame himself for the overall circumstances, but he could blame himself for having been nostalgic or childish enough to have needed to see the open sky that night. Even if it was only as much of the sky as you could see from a budget-priced hotel in Minneapolis. It was only a bit of sky, really, but there was a magnificent full moon, and Fraser was sharing a room with Ray Kowalski a/k/a Vecchio; and perhaps both facts had gone to his head.

 

There really wasn’t any other explanation for not turning away immediately, for witnessing Ray at his most vulnerable and his most…beautiful.

 

Nor was there any excuse for allowing his mind to stray from the task at hand, which was to support Ray, not invade his privacy. Ray was here on police business. He’d been called to identify a suspect in a lineup so that the man could be charged in Illinois for the fatal shootings of a police officer and a civilian bystander. The incident had taken place before Ray had come to the 27th District, so he was Kowalski here; he’d taken his own ID and shield with him, stowing all of his Vecchio ID in a lockbox hidden in the car; he’d swap IDs again on the trip back, sometime before they crossed back into Illinois. Fraser had left his uniform and all his obvious RCMP insignia behind, carrying only his ID.

 

Ray’s task wouldn’t ordinarily have required the presence of his partner, but Fraser thought this one did: the perpetrator had been aiming for Ray and had missed, hitting the officer next to him. Ray had rendered aid, and the perpetrator had escaped, to be arrested just this week in Minnesota on unrelated charges.

 

It was probably deeply irrational, but Fraser objectedto the idea of Ray’s facing his would-be killer alone, even if the man would never see him through the wrong side of the two-way mirror.

 

As it turned out, Fraser never even had to ask to go along. Lieutenant Welsh had personally phoned Inspector Thatcher to make the request. He told Fraser privately, “This kind of thing messes with a cop’s mind. Just be there for him.” He told Ray, “You go on assignment, you take backup with you, Detective. I’m sending backup that’s less likely to piss off the Minneapolis PD and district attorney’s office than you are.”

 

Ray’s protests that he’d be fine, that he didn’t need a babysitter, fell on deaf ears. “Just finger the right guy so we can get that creep back here to be tried in Cook County, Detective.”

 

Ray had blown out his breath, exasperated, and looked over at Fraser, who was standing nearby trying not to fidget with the brim of his Stetson. It seemed to Fraser that Ray’s expression softened; then he jerked his head at Fraser, gathering him up with a grunt and heading for the exit with Diefenbaker bounding ahead. Fraser aimed a salute back toward Lieutenant Welsh, and as he turned to follow Ray he could have sworn he saw Welsh shaking his head.

 

So they’d left Diefenbaker at the Vecchios’ and driven, since the reimbursement Ray could expect for his expenses wasn’t going to cover airfare for two, and they shared the available accommodations, since the City of Chicago’s per diem wouldn’t cover two hotel rooms, either.

 

Ray hadn’t seemed bothered by the idea of sharing the room; he’d just plunked his duffel bag down on the bed nearest the door, leaving Fraser the one by the window.

 

“Can’t give you wide-open spaces, Frase. Best I can do is give you the window,” he’d said with an apologetic shrug. Then he’d stretched like a cat, and sat down to pull his boots off.

 

The drive had been long, and Ray was no doubt tired, as he’d done the lion’s share of the driving, but the all-night race from Chicago to Sault Ste. Marie had been worse, and Ray had come through that just fine.

 

As Fraser prepared for bed, he found himself near the window, seeking relief from the claustrophobic feeling he got from high-rise buildings with windows that didn’t open.

 

Never mind that the room was twice the size of his office back at the Consulate. It didn’t have _open air_, and each time he inhaled he caught the unpleasant odor of a disinfectant cleaning product and the delightful but even more disconcerting scent of…Ray. Hell and heaven, respectively, and in combination Fraser found them stifling.

 

So he opened the drapes to let the moonlight into the room. Ray didn’t object. “Beautiful, huh?” he said in his soft voice, and something inside Fraser melted a little at the sound. He wondered how many people ever got to hear what he thought of as Ray’s _real_ voice, the velvety tone that crept in when Ray wasn’t feeling challenged or defensive.

 

“Remind you of home?” Ray asked, coming to stand beside him at the window, perhaps to admire the view. It was an overture, the cue for anything from an Inuit story to a heart-to-heart, but Fraser couldn’t have endured either at that moment, not with Ray standing next to him at the window stretching his arms up and back to yank his t-shirt off over his head. The spikes of his hair sprang up as though surprised; moonlight silvered the highlights in them and in his beautiful eyes.

 

Ray moved, just a quick shift of his hips and tilt of his head, but it was enough—the light spilled over his left shoulder and down onto his collarbone and his chest, and Fraser’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“What?” Ray said. “You’re looking at me funny. What?”

 

Fraser recovered his wits rather more slowly than he’d have liked. “Oh. Ah. Well, no. The Minneapolis skyline is really nothing like…”

 

Ray chuckled. “I meant the moonlight, Frase.” He stretched his arms over his head, making several vertebrae in his back pop softly. He was so near that Fraser fancied he could feel the heat of Ray’s skin. Smooth. It looked smooth except for a dusting of soft hair around the nipples, and…oh, dear. Fraser really shouldn’t be gawking at his partner.

 

“Oh. I see. Yes. In a sense.” Fraser could hardly sound more idiotic, could he? But Ray was so near, and he’d taken his shirt off, and now he was moving back toward the other bed and starting to unbutton his jeans.

 

Fraser shook himself out of his unbecoming stupor and turned back to the window so he wouldn’t have to see Ray taking his jeans off—and, dear God, maybe his shorts, too? No—that rustle was Ray getting into the bed. So he’d left his shorts on.

 

Fraser exhaled.

 

Fraser drifted off soon after lying down, but even though he was accustomed to sleeping in the same room with Diefenbaker, who was hardly a quiet sleeper, he found it impossible to stay asleep. Every time he started to ease back into the depths, he was awakened by movements or sometimes even muttered curses from the neighboring bed: Ray was as restless asleep as he was awake.

 

Of course they had slept in proximity to each other before, but always on the floor or the ground or sitting in the car, and Fraser had attributed Ray’s restlessness to the uncomfortable sleeping surfaces. But the hotel beds were surprisingly good; Ray himself had commented on that fact.

 

Yet even though he’d sunk into his bed with murmurs of, “Oh, hey, this is pretty soft,” and “Wow, a comfortable hotel bed—who knew?” Ray’s hyperkinetic behavior during the day didn’t translate to a commensurate relaxation. Apparently, Ray was always _on_.

 

So Fraser couldn’t sleep, and Ray was obviously in some distress, whether physical or mental. To Fraser that was an intolerable situation. He was Ray’s friend, maybe his best friend, from what Ray had said on more than one occasion. Ray was surely Fraser’s.

 

Perhaps Fraser should offer to call room service for a glass of warm milk, or he could offer to sing, or he could suggest a hot bath, or he might even, if he worked up sufficient nerve, ask if Ray might like a quick backrub to help him settle.

 

Ray’s breathing became more ragged, and the bedclothes rustled even more.

 

Not sure what he was going to say, knowing only that he was going to offer to help _somehow,_ Fraser finally turned over toward Ray.

 

To his surprise, Ray blinked back at him, startled.

 

It wasn’t till that moment that Fraser’s brain managed to assemble the various sounds he’d heard into a familiar pattern, and by then it was far too late to pretend he hadn’t turned over and _noticed…_

Or to pretend that Ray hadn’t seen him noticing.

 

Ray’s hand was moving rhythmically under the sheet, his hips were thrusting, his mouth was slightly open, and sweat had beaded on his upper lip. His eyes were open, but appeared unfocused.

 

And then suddenly they focused. They focused on Fraser, and in them was the clear comprehension that Fraser was seeing Ray flushed, sweating, close to orgasm….

 

Too close to have a prayer of stopping it. Before Fraser could turn away, before Ray could marshal some control over himself, Ray’s eyes closed, squinted tight, and he gasped, and gasped again; his mouth stayed open, his jaw went slack, his face darkened, and under the sheet his hips jerked one last time and went still.

 

Ray’s face at that moment was one of the most beautiful sights Fraser had ever seen.

 

It didn’t last. Ray’s expression tightened, his eyes remained closed as though he couldn’t bear to see Fraser, and under the thin sheet he whipped his hand away from his body as though it burned.

 

After a moment Ray flung himself over onto his side so his back was to Fraser, and Fraser could read shame in the sharp curve of Ray’s lean back and the slump of his shoulders, in the way he ducked his head.

 

Dear God, no. Ray should never be _ashamed._

Certainly not of his beauty.

 

Nor of his _needing_. Who didn’t need …touch? Even if it had to be the touch of one’s own hand? Even Fraser understood that, though he could get by without touch longer than most people, he supposed.

 

He hadn’t really been deprived, here in Chicago—at least, not of simple touch. He had Diefenbaker, and he’d had Ray Vecchio, who was a toucher like his whole family, and then when he suddenly didn’t have him anymore, he had Ray Kowalski, who turned out to be even more of a toucher despite not being a genuine Italian.

 

Ray was extraordinarily tactile; he seemed to _need_ touch more than Fraser did. And whom did Ray have to touch him? He lived alone; he was isolated from any friends he might have had as Ray Kowalski, except for Stella, and she tried to stay just beyond arm’s reach, Fraser had observed, as though she realized she could be drawn back in by Ray’s magnetism if she weren’t careful.

 

Ray’s parents had returned to Arizona for the winter, and Fraser knew he tried not to presume overmuch on the Vecchio family’s concern for him, so he limited his visits to around once a month. When he did go, he got fed and hugged and made much of by Ray Vecchio’s mother, who told him he was family. Fraser had been very glad that Ray at least had a surrogate family, considering all other contacts from his own life were temporarily out of reach.

 

But of course Fraser’s mind had strayed off the point, which was Ray’s need for rather another kind of touch, and Fraser’s unconscionable stupidity in failing to realize it. He fortified himself with a deep breath. “Ray, I’m sor—”

 

“Don’t. Just don’t, Fraser.” Ray rustled around under the bedclothes some more—pulling up his shorts, Fraser realized. The thought sent heat spiraling down into his belly, and lower._ Ray’s shorts had been pulled down; he’d been naked under the sheet, wet with his own ejaculate…. _

Fraser felt momentarily dizzy. He turned his face to the window, to the moonlight still streaming in.

 

He heard Ray get out of bed and go into the bathroom, and only when the door clicked safely shut did Fraser get up and close the curtain, blocking the intrusive moonlight out.

 

When Ray returned he protested the loss. “Aw, Fraser, don’t blame the moon for what’s my fault. I don’t want to take that away from you just because I’m pathetic and I suck.”

 

“Neither is true,” Fraser said a little more sharply than he intended. But he nudged the drapes open again, albeit only halfway.

 

Ray ducked his head. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have had better self-control.”

 

“Oh, no, Ray! I don’t…I mean, I wasn’t thinking along those lines at all. I was simply concerned because you obviously couldn’t sleep, and I wanted…”

 

“If you were awake, why didn’t you just pretend like you didn’t hear me?” Ray’s voice was still hushed, but it sounded a bit petulant.

 

“I didn’t…I-I’m sorry. You must think me terribly naïve, and perhaps I am, or perhaps I had dozed off and hadn’t gathered all my marbles back together yet, but I didn’t realize that you were…. Uh, I mean I thought perhaps I could…”

 

He cleared his throat, and his thumb went reflexively to his left eyebrow. “Ah. I was thinking of suggesting…well. It’s not important. What is important is that you find a method of sleep inducement that works, and certainly the method you tried would probably have worked except that I, er…I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sleep inducement?” Ray said, his voice gone higher as though he were barely containing his incredulity. “That what you call it?”

 

“Well, what do you call it?” Fraser snapped before he had the sense to stop himself.

 

“Jerking off. I was jerking off, Fraser.” Ray said it matter-of-factly; he was probably not even blushing. Fraser knew his own cheeks were pink, though.

 

“Well, yes, eventually I did realize that, but by then it was too late to…”

 

“Pretend. Yeah.” Ray heaved a sigh. “Well. I can’t pretend that suddenly seeing you turn over and look right at me, especially at _that_ moment, didn’t, um…” His voice quavered and he stopped, apparently to fortify himself with a deep breath before he went on: “…knock me for a loop, cause it sure did. But, look, it wasn’t your fault, and if you’re totally grossed out and you don’t ever want to room with me again, I don’t blame you.”

 

“Ray! I’m not…‘grossed out.’ Not at all.”

 

“Just one of those things, huh? It’s perfectly natural, everybody does it, animals do it?”

 

“Well, they do, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, well, I thought we were supposed to be better than them. The animals, I mean.”

 

Fraser couldn’t help it; he let out a soft snort.

 

“Not counting Dief,” Ray amended. “He’s a special case; he’s like Mr. Popularity times ten.”

 

Fraser couldn’t help smiling at that.

 

“What do you think he’s doing now?”

 

“If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he’s overindulged in Mrs. Vecchio’s lasagna and is now lying next to Ante near the fireplace, attempting to sleep it off. Or to talk Ante into…well, something.”

 

“Which he always succeeds at. Dogs got all the luck. Especially him.”

 

“He does seem to have what’s known colloquially as ‘animal magnetism,’ yes.”

 

Ray cracked up at that, and the sight and sound of his laughter sent warmth all through Fraser’s body. When Ray caught his breath he stretched out on his bed again, this time on top of the covers, half-sitting, with the pillows bunched up behind him. He was long and slender and pale as ivory, and the moonlight traced his lean muscles and the prominent angles of his bones. His knit boxer-briefs clung to his form.

 

Fraser nearly forgot to breathe.

 

Ray drew his long legs up, put them down, crossed them, then uncrossed them, still unable to settle. “I’m too picky, Fraser. I always seem to want what’s just out of reach. Or out of my league.”

 

Fraser’s voice caught in his throat; he couldn’t speak to tell Ray he understood, he understood so well. If Ray only knew....

 

Fraser felt pinioned, suspended between what he wanted and the realization that he couldn’t have it, yet unable to look away from its beauty. Like Ray, he wanted what wasn’t on offer and he never seemed to want what was.

 

Ray didn’t seem to notice Fraser’s distress. “Well, actually Stella was out of my league, and I had her for a while, but it’s like it was a different version of me that got her. The ‘con job’ me, the guy who wasn’t real, but some combination of movie stars’ personalities—pretty lame, huh? Trying to be like somebody who wasn’t even real himself.”

 

“It was not a con job who received three citations for bravery, Ray.”

 

Ray shrugged and tapped his hand on the bed rhythmically. “Thing is, I still don’t know what she saw in me, other than the guy who’d risk anything to protect her. I mean, you’re right that she probably wasn’t fooled by the Steve McQueen act, and when it came down to it, it was hard for her to live with an actual cop who wasn’t, you know, playing from a script like McQueen.

 

“Not that I wasn’t playing from a script, too—which, you know, you got to kind of do that to take down the bad guys and all—but in my script, nobody knew the ending. I’d go to work every day cleaning scumbags off the street, and she never knew whether I was coming home that night or whether she was going to get the visit.”

 

“The visit?”

 

“You know, my lieutenant or someone, coming to the door to tell her….”

 

“Oh.” Fraser sighed. “Yes. It’s certainly one of the most difficult aspects of having a policeman in the family.”

 

“Oh. Jeez, I didn’t think. I’m sorry, Frase.”

 

Fraser glanced up to see Ray’s sensitive gaze on him. “What do you mean?”

 

“You got the visit. Your dad.”

 

“It’s all right, Ray. I’m all right.”

 

“Yeah, you’re good. You came through it real good, buddy.” His lips curved in a gentle smile. “Stella would have, too. She’s tough as nails. But, you know, maybe she didn’t want to put kids through that.” He paused for a long moment. “I didn’t think of that. Her being in criminal justice, too, we were both high-risk in a way.”

 

“You miss her very much,” Fraser said, trying to feel for Ray, trying to hurt for the life Ray had wanted and hadn’t succeeded in keeping. Trying not to be selfishly glad that Ray didn’t have that life, because it meant Ray could have this one, where he was Fraser’s partner.

 

Ray glanced up at him again, looking a little surprised. “That’s not where I was going with that whole subject; sorry.” He waved a hand, erasing the topic. “Nah, I wasn’t really thinking about missing Stella, only…um.” He looked down at the blanket, half-hiding a sheepish look. “Only missing the physical part, you know? It’s like my _body_ remembers having someone so close by every night….”

 

He shifted convulsively, ducking his head even more. “When I was with Stella—you know, back when things were _good_ with Stella—I’d make love to her every night.” He smiled. “Sometimes twice.”

 

“Oh. Oh, Ray…” Fraser breathed, and his voice had an embarrassing hitch in it.

 

“Fraser, don’t—God, don’t be sad for me.”

 

Fraser knew he was staring. But sadness was so far from the emotion he was feeling that he couldn’t begin to explain.

 

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Ray went on. “I’m even sort of over her.”

 

After a moment, Fraser realized his mouth was gaping. He shut it deliberately.

 

Then Ray’s pale shoulders lifted in a self-deprecating shrug, and Fraser tried not to let his gaze follow the motion—so unconsciously seductive—but it seemed beyond his control.

 

“I know it seems like I’m not, but, yeah, I am. I still say dumb stuff when I’m around her…that hasn’t changed from the day I met her. But it’s gotten to be kind of like a habit. Just going through the motions. I don’t mean it so much anymore.

 

“I, um…I realized something that night with the bomb in her apartment. I mean, what was the difference, really, between the bomber and me?”

 

Fraser shook his head firmly. “There are many, Ray. For instance, you’ve never bombed anyone nor even, I suspect, attempted to do so. He attempted to murder Stella; you risked your life repeatedly to protect her. He committed crimes; you arrested him and brought him to justice. I can’t think of two more diametrically opposed people.”

 

Ray blinked at him as though surprised by Fraser’s vehemence. “Well, yeah, dia-whatsis opposites that way, but about being obsessed with our ex-wives? Not so opposite, buddy.”

 

“A man should be judged by his _actions,_ Ray. Yours were brave and loving; his were cowardly and uncaring.”

 

A shy, fleeting smile crossed Ray’s face. “Well, if you put it that way.”

 

“The truth is the only way to put it.”

 

Ray’s smile—lovely, _enchanting—_returned and stayed longer.

 

“And considering all that happened, it’s a very good thing you _were _following her that day and that you were ‘obsessed.’ If you hadn’t been there, the malfeasant might have succeeded, and if you hadn’t been suspicious of Alderman Orsini, his own wrongdoing might never have been uncovered. You protected Stella and the homes of hundreds of people in the projects.”

 

“Huh.” Ray sighed, scratching his neck absently. “I never looked at it that way, but I guess you’re right. Wow. Thanks, Frase.”

 

Fraser shrugged: no thanks were necessary for speaking the truth.

 

“Anyway, I did a lot of thinking that night,” Ray said. “Went back to my apartment and couldn’t sleep. All night I was just thinking. Moving and thinking.

 

“Moving? Ah, you mean…dancing.”

 

“Yeah. Hey, how’d you know about that? That I sometimes…”

 

“Dance by yourself?”

 

Ray glanced away with a sheepish half-smile. Oh. Yes. What Ray had been doing earlier could perhaps be called dancing by himself, as well. Fraser realized his own face was hot, and he wondered whether the moonlight was sufficient to reveal that fact to Ray without his glasses.

 

 “Your landlady. She lives directly below you…”

 

“Yeah, in 209.”

 

“You remember the day of the eclipse, when you were at the cemetery and I went to your apartment to look for you? Your landlady described the sounds, and I realized what they were. Also, Diefenbaker found the, ah, the painted dance steps under the rug.”

 

Ray shrugged. “The dance steps, they were just a dumb idea one day. I don’t need ’em for _me,_ of course—”

 

“Because you learned to dance when you were a child.”

 

“Right. I thought maybe I might want to teach somebody else to dance. Someday, you know.”

 

Fraser nodded.

 

“Someday didn’t come and didn’t come, and there was nobody who wanted to dance with Ray, and I, uh, just threw the rug down over the dance steps, and I try not to remember I wanted…”

 

“A dance partner.”

 

“Yeah.” His mouth quirked up as though he was trying to smile again, but couldn’t quite manage it, and now there was a real lump in Fraser’s throat, because it wasn’t right. It just wasn’t _right_ that this exquisite man should be alone, unable to find a dance partner— literal or figurative.

 

Ray was looking at him oddly, as though he could see Fraser’s thoughts. Maybe he could, because he said, “I think what I been figuring out is that I’m a one-woman man. I got my one woman, and I lost her; she’s not mine anymore, and so I, uh…so now I got to dance alone, whether I want to or not.”

 

“No,” Fraser said, struggling to catch breath, to protest.

 

“Young love don’t last, what have I been telling you, Fraser? I ever find love again—the real thing—I’m going to hold onto it with both hands, believe me.”

 

“Oh, I do believe you, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, both hands, both feet, all my teeth, even the fake one. And my dick. Going to hang on with everything I got. If that ain’t enough, I guess I’ll be right back here where I started.” He shrugged eloquently. “Which, you know, ain’t such a bad place to be.”

 

Fraser knew he was blushing again. He cleared his throat, suddenly desperate to steer the conversation out of dangerous waters. “Ah. You’ve never told me how you lost the tooth.”

 

“What you’d expect. A perp slugged me with the butt of an empty handgun.”

 

Fraser winced. “Ouch.”

 

Ray clicked the partial bridge out with his tongue so that the gap showed, then clicked it back in place as Fraser tried not to stare, tried not to imagine the strength and dexterity of Ray’s tongue were it put to…other tasks.

 

“Yeah, you could say that. He knocked out three, but the other two came out intact and after I collared the bastard, I stuck them in my mouth to keep the roots alive, and the dentist got them to reattach. Left front one was shattered, though. I figure I’ll get it replaced permanently after I retire, like a hockey player. Or not. I don’t even notice the bridge half the time. Forget to take it out.”

 

“So much pain…” Fraser didn’t quite realize he’d spoken until the words were out and couldn’t be called back. Dear God, Ray’d had so much pain in his thirty-seven years, and more psychological than physical: the injuries that left no scars, the wounds of mind and heart. Marcus Ellery, Ray’s father, Stella, Sam Franklin—how many people had hurt Ray, let him down? How many more were there that Fraser didn’t even know about yet? The thought wrenched him.

 

“Jesus, you don’t got to look like that, Fraser. It’s just a tooth. You didn’t even know I had this fake one till that time I fell off the fire escape at that, whatchacallit, that theater place.”

 

“Chicago Silent Theater,” Fraser said absently. “And you didn’t fall, you were pushed.” He shuddered. “By thirteen mimes.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said with a chuckle. “At least we got them off the streets. Quietest cellblock in Joliet.”

 

Fraser smiled, and Ray’s eyes sparkled back at him, and suddenly the mood in the room was lighter, easier.

 

Ray yawned and scrubbed the inside of his forearm over his face, shifted his legs a few times, and looked over at Fraser, wide awake.

 

Fraser felt a renewed desire to help Ray settle, somehow. “Would you like, ah, that is, since you seem wide awake, would you like some warm milk? I think I could get some from room service.”

 

Ray’s smile widened. “Warm milk. I haven’t had that since I was, like, three years old. Not really my speed, Fraser, but…thanks. That’s kind of sweet, you thinking of that.”

 

“I could…sing something.”

 

“What, like that privateer song?”

 

“No, something relaxing. Sea chanteys aren’t, generally speaking.”

 

“You’d sing me a lullaby, huh?”

 

“Anything you want that I know.”

 

“That’s kind of like the hot milk, Fraser. I love your voice, buddy, but…I’m not sure it’d put me to sleep.”

 

“Well there was one other idea I had, but in light of the…”

 

“Shoot,” Ray said. “I’m open to suggestions.”

 

Fraser’s pulse thundered in his ears. His mouth went dry. “I just thought…you seemed tense, which isn’t surprising given all the driving and, well, the reason we’re here. I thought perhaps…I did learn some massage from a practitioner in...well, it’s not important. Perhaps a backrub?”

 

It was out, for good or ill. Fraser waited to see what Ray would make of it.

 

Ray’s eyes lit right up. “Wow. You’d, uh. You’d do that for me?”

 

“Any time, Ray.” Fraser realized he wanted to bring that look back to Ray’s eyes often.

 

Very often.

 

Ray’s eyes clouded again, though, almost as quickly, and his face assumed that shy, self-deprecating look that Fraser had seen too many times on those handsome features. “You really don’t mind?”

 

_Mind?_ If Ray only knew.

 

“Not in the least.”

 

Ray shrugged. “Okay. Sure, then. Thanks.” He jerked his chin upward in that way he had, meaning he was going to add something. “And you got to let me do you, too. Fair’s fair.”

 

_Do_ him. Dear God, would Fraser have to think, all throughout the massage, about what Ray usually meant by that expression?

 

He was kidding himself, of course. He’d be able to think of nothing else, regardless of whether Ray spoke or not. He cleared his throat. “All right, but another time. Tonight my aim is to help you settle to sleep. You do need to be rested for the morning, especially if you intend to do most of the driving again.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Another time. Just don’t forget.”

 

“Oh, I won’t forget.”

 

Fraser’s words must have come out more heartfelt than he wished Ray to hear, because Ray chuckled sensually, “Yeah, who would? Even people who get regular sex can’t always score a good backrub. And Fraser?” He gestured with his index finger and pinkie, emphasizing the point. “I give a _good_ backrub.”

 

Oh, dear. “I’m, er, delighted to hear that.”

 

“You should be. Hey, fair’s fair. I know _you_ give a good backrub.”

 

“You do?” Fraser couldn’t think where Ray could have obtained that information.

 

“Sure, Frase,” Ray said, sitting up and pulling the pillows out from behind him. “That one’s a no-brainer. Everything you do, you do perfect. Okay, so I’m all yours. Where do you want me?”

 

If Fraser had been a praying man, he’d have knelt down and prayed for strength then and there.

 

*****

 

“Ohhh, that’s good,” Ray said. “Fraser, you are so good at that. You are a _genius.”_

 

“Why, thank you, Ray.” Fraser set his fingertips and thumbs on opposite sides of Ray’s trapezius muscles and kneaded hard. Ray carried an astonishing amount of tension there.

 

“If you ever decide to leave the Mounties you could open up shop and give massages for a living. You’d make a fortune.”

 

“Only if all my customers were you, Ray.”

 

“Hey, I’m not exaggerating. You’re good.”

 

“Thank you, Ray, but I don’t think I could actually do this for just anyone.”

 

“Why not? Oh—you mean I’m a special case, huh?”

 

“Yes,” Fraser managed to choke out. “Oh, yes. You’re my partner and my…friend.”

 

“That didn’t sound so easy to say,” Ray joked in a sleepy, comfortable voice.

 

“Well, I _am_ working hard at the moment. Your muscles are quite…quite insistent on holding onto their tension, and, I…”

 

“S’okay, Frase, you don’t got to explain yourself. Your fingers are doing the talking just fine.”

 

Fraser hoped they weren’t speaking too clearly. He saved his energy for the massage, working his fingers down Ray’s spine to the waistband of his briefs, reluctantly stopping there, then starting back up. Ray let out an involuntary moan.

 

Fraser drew a fortifying breath. Strength, he told himself. Have strength.

 

Ray squirmed a bit on the mattress.

 

“Was that uncomfortable?” Fraser asked, lifting his hands immediately. “Would you like me to wedge another pillow under you?”

 

Ray shook his head without lifting it, so that the spikes of his hair rubbed the sheet and crackled with static electricity. “Nah, I’m fine. Just, um, you know.” He wiggled his hips slightly.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

 

“I’m a little _too_ comfortable, if you catch my drift.”

 

Fraser thought about it for a minute. “If by that you mean the backrub is making you sleepy, then it’s achieving its purpose.”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“Oh. Oh, dear. It’s not working at all?”

 

“Oh, it’s working, all right. Heh.”

 

“Ray, you’re speaking in riddles. Could you just speak plainly?”

 

“I got to say it in plain Canadian, huh? Okay. Promise you won’t freak?”

 

“Have you ever seen me ‘freak,’ Ray?”

 

“Yeah, in your own Fraserish way. I mean, sure, nothing like my freakouts, but you have your own way of reacting. You get all uptight. Really, really polite, too.” Fraser could see Ray’s smile pressed against the mattress. “I hate that.”

 

“All right, then. I promise not to ‘freak.’”

 

 “Your hands on my lower back, they just eased up a hell of a lot of tension there.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

“Yeah, you opened up all the blood flow to the area.”

 

“Oh.”

 

_Oh._

“Yeah,” Ray said. “And there’s, um, a _lot_ of blood flow to that area right now.”

 

“You mean you’re…”

 

“Mm-hm. Pretty much back where I started tonight.” His hips moved under Fraser’s thighs, a slight but unmistakable thrust.

 

Ray’s skin was suddenly hotter, and his face, which didn’t show color easily, darkened rapidly. “Maybe you’d like to stop, huh? Go back to bed and turn your back, you know, ’cause if I got to do this again, I’m guessing you don’t want to have to watch a second time.”

 

Fraser’s hands had moved up to the safer location of Ray’s shoulders the moment he realized what Ray meant, but even so, his hands trembled on Ray’s skin. He went instantly hard. Dear God. There was a limit to how much sweet torture a man could be expected to withstand, wasn’t there?

 

The redirection of his blood flow far south of his brain must have been responsible for his unthinking response: “Maybe I should leave the room, Ray. I don’t think I have enough self-control to turn my back.”

 

Ray gave a start, and stilled his restless movements under Fraser. “Huh?”

 

“You’ve no idea how beautiful you are when you…oh, dear.” He’d said that aloud. He felt heat climbing his neck and face.

 

Surprisingly, Ray didn’t look frightened, or horrified, or like anything Fraser would have expected. He shifted to look Fraser in the eye. “Wow. So you really weren’t disgusted, huh?”

 

“Of course not. I told you I wasn’t.”

 

“I thought that was just you being a nature freak.”

 

“No.” Fraser tried to look away, but Ray’s eyes were too open, too honest, too clear. “No, that was me being someone who…cares about you.”

 

He slid off Ray, but didn’t get off the bed; he wasn’t that strong. Instead he settled on his knees next to Ray, and one of his hands, traitor that it was, stayed on Ray’s warm back. “And right now I’m in the same condition as you, and I don’t think I can leave the room after all. Please…”

 

Ray turned over, slowly, his gaze startled but intense, his movement dislodging Fraser’s hand. He reached out and took that hand in his. “Anything. What? What can I do?”

 

“Just don’t send me out of here. I couldn’t—”

 

“What, you mean in the _hallway?_ Of course not.”

 

“Even the bathroom. I don’t think I could. It’s bright in there and _cold—”_ Ray would know he didn’t mean the temperature.

 

“Jeez, of course not, Fraser. How heartless you think I am?”

 

“Oh, I don’t think that at all, Ray, but I have to…I think I’m going to have to take care of this, and, just…” He tried to tug his hand out of Ray’s but he was so reluctant to leave that warm grip that he wasn’t effective in the least; Ray held on with very little effort.

 

“Just please can we…can we both do that, and I, ah, I’ll go over there and I’ll try to be quiet, but I don’t think…. I still don’t think I can turn my back, but I’ll, I’ll try not to look at you if you don’t want me to…” He was blithering; no, he was beyond blithering and heading into incoherence.

 

Ray’s eyes were wide and dark, his gaze unbelievably calm and steady, considering the circumstances. And then he did the last thing Fraser expected: he tugged Fraser’s hand, pulling him closer.

 

“Hey. Hey, it’s all right, Frase. Benton-buddy. It’s all right. I ain’t sending you away. Come here.” He held on to Fraser’s hand the way he held on to it over the side of a building with a multi-story drop below, as though he could pull Fraser to safety the same way he had then.

 

His hand firm and warm, Ray pushed up onto his knees and shoved the pillows back where they belonged. He pulled Fraser up to settle beside him on the bed. Only when Fraser let his head drop to the pillow did Ray loosen his grip, but he still didn’t let go Fraser’s hand.

 

“Wow, you really are saluting the Queen, there, aren’t you?” Ray tilted his chin in the direction of Fraser’s crotch. Fraser glanced down. The fabric of his longjohns was obviously tented over his erection. He wondered whether his face was more or less red than the fabric.

 

“Ray, I really think I have to…” he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

 

Ray grinned. “Yeah, I can see that. Looks like you could use a hand. I don’t mean to freak you out or anything, but…” He swallowed so hard Fraser could hear it. “How about mine?”

 

“Yours?” Fraser’s voice did not usually squeak like that.

 

“Yeah.” Ray seemed to be breathing more shallowly than usual, and there was a fine sheen of sweat over the stubble on his upper lip, but still he looked so _calm. _“Let me touch you, Frase? Let me take care of that for you?” His eyebrows lifted; his face was vulnerable, open. Caring.

 

Fraser couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen such a caring look directed at him.

 

“You’d do that?” His astonishment was so great that it flooded through the haze of desire.

 

“Sure, if you’ll let me.” Ray smiled that same fleeting, shy smile. “What are friends for?”

 

_“Let _you? Oh, Ray, if you’re willing…”

 

Ray released Fraser’s hand and reached for the snaps over Fraser’s belly. “Sure thing, Frase. Just let me undo these real quick and we’ll have you out here to play in no time.”

 

Fraser’s mouth flooded with saliva so quickly that he almost choked. “Ray, what about you—aren’t you…?” He gestured awkwardly at Ray’s crotch. The soft gray boxer briefs clung to an impressive bulge. At the apex, a dark spot the size of a quarter spread in the fabric.

 

“Nah, I’m good. I can wait; I got off once already tonight, remember?” Ray smiled easily, showing no embarrassment about the subject now; instead, he seemed to find it honestly humorous. He reached down to adjust himself quickly in his shorts, then went after Fraser’s snaps again, popping them open from navel to crotch before Fraser could collect his wits.

 

Fraser’s erection sprang free all by itself, and seemed to push itself into Ray’s hand.

 

“Easy there,” Ray said, smiling, as he wrapped his long fingers firmly around Fraser’s shaft. “Yeah, he’s got it bad. Hey, no worries. Fraser, meet Ray’s right hand.” He adjusted his grip and gave one long, slow, experimental pull, all the way up, and twisted just a bit at the top, so that the flat of his palm caressed the entire crown.

 

Fraser bit back a groan. One stroke, and he felt ready to explode.

 

He wasn’t entirely certain he could survive this experience.

 

“Relax, buddy. Just let me do it, okay? Let me make you feel good. Deal?”

 

“Deal,” Fraser breathed.

 

Ray glanced up at him as he delivered a second delightful stroke. “You comfortable, buddy? Get comfortable.” He pushed down and pulled up on Fraser’s cock again, a third stroke, and this time Fraser did groan.

 

“My God, Ray, that’s—”

 

“That’s good, huh?” Ray smiled a smile that was pure, simple happiness.

 

“So good, you’ve no idea—”

 

“Heh. Oh, I think I got some idea. I taught this hand everything it knows.”

 

“Yes, oh!” Fraser’s belly tightened suddenly, nearly pulling him up to a sitting position, almost curling up around the source of the pleasure: Ray’s incredible, beautiful hand on his cock. His hands scrabbled uselessly on the blanket, unable to find purchase.

 

Ray flicked his thumb gently but firmly over the head of Fraser’s cock, pushing the foreskin back. Clear fluid welled out of the slit; Ray just smiled and spread it around, slicking up Fraser’s tenderest skin.

 

Fraser’s eyes rolled back in his head. He felt helpless before the pure delight that was Ray’s hand on him. He wouldn’t have thought he could stand this much sheer pleasure without suffering some sort of implosion.

 

Just when he thought he would start to spasm, Ray’s hand slowed and stopped. Fraser’s hips thrust awkwardly, trying to get Ray’s hand to move again, but it didn’t. Ray was frowning, looking at Fraser in consternation.

 

“Wait. Wait. This is…it’s all wrong,” Ray said.

 

“What?” Fraser was having trouble catching his breath.

 

“Sorry, buddy,” Ray said, and stroked Fraser’s cock a few more times, but loosely. Clearly, he wasn’t going to continue.

 

 

 

Fraser bit back a groan of intense disappointment. He swallowed hard and found his voice. “Oh…I’m…er, I’m sorry, Ray; you’re right, it’s inappropriate. W-we shouldn’t…we’re policemen, we’re partners, friends…”

 

Ray looked at him oddly. “Nah, that’s not what I meant. I meant it’s not right to jack you off like I’m some kind of rent boy and you’re a john. It’s not right. Come here.” He pulled Fraser into his arms, let Fraser rest his head on Ray’s strong shoulder. “That better?”

 

“Oh, it’s lovely.” He felt Ray’s smile against his forehead. He breathed in Ray’s scent, so dear and so familiar. _Oh, to be allowed this…_

 

“Want to kiss?”

 

“What?” Fraser was sure he’d heard wrong.

 

“The way I figure it,” Ray said, “you need all of it. God, Fraser you _deserve_ so much. You should be held. You should be _loved.”_

“But, Ray you…oh!...you don’t…” Fraser was quivering, he was shaking; he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _speak_.

 

“Don’t love you?” Ray chuckled softly. “Hell, yeah, I do. You think I’d do this with just anybody?”

 

“No…. No, I mean…you don’t…er, date other men.”

 

“Huh? What do other men got to do with any of this? There’s only one guy I’m offering this to, and that’s you. You want to kiss or not?”

 

“Oh, Ray…” Fraser had given up trying to breathe; he gave himself over to joy. “I would love to—” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Ray’s lips descended on his.

 

If Fraser had thought Ray’s hand was a delight, he had no words for the bliss he experienced when he encountered Ray’s mouth. So warm, so wet, so alive. Ray’s tongue went after his eagerly, wanting to know Fraser’s, wanting to caress every part of Fraser’s mouth it could reach.

 

Eventually, Fraser realized he’d rolled half on top of Ray and that his cock was rubbing Ray’s belly, leaving moisture there, and he wanted so badly to thrust…but he controlled himself, just barely, telling himself it wouldn’t be fair to Ray. He tried to pull away just enough to seek Ray’s hand blindly. He needed Ray’s hand. Surely Ray would be willing…

 

Ray broke the kiss and wrapped his arms around Fraser’s back. “Hey, no, that’s okay. You can rub it against me. Or even…hm.” He freed one hand and squirmed around a bit, tugging at the waistband of his undershorts. “You mind giving me a hand with these?”

 

_Mind? _Oh, no. Fraser didn’t mind. He lifted up, freeing one of his own hands, and eased Ray’s shorts down over his erection. He barely got a glimpse of it as he did, but even that set his pulse beating wildly in his throat. From what he’d seen, Ray’s cock was large, dusky pink, beautiful, very wet at the tip.

 

He wondered whether Ray would let him look all he wanted, touch him the way he wanted.

 

He steeled himself to ask, but when he looked up, Ray was grinning easily at him. “Your turn, buddy,” Ray said. “Off with the long johns, okay?”

 

“Oh! Certainly.” He ripped the rest of the snaps apart and pushed the union suit off as though he didn’t care if he destroyed it.

 

Which, at the moment, he didn’t.

 

Ray pulled him in close again. His warm chest on Fraser’s was a revelation. His stubble scraped Fraser’s cheek, and his lips, so soft by comparison, tickled Fraser’s ear. “So, uh, now there’s no, um, nothing in the way. You could, um, rub off on my belly like you were doing, or you could have my hand again, or…”

 

“Or…?” Fraser could think of several ways to fill in the blank, every single one of them so impossibly wonderful that he didn’t really believe they’d be offered. But then, he wouldn’t have believed he’d have this much, either.

 

“Or let me, um…let me do something…”

 

“Anything, Ray.”

 

“You mean that?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“You won’t be…you won’t think I’m…”

 

“I won’t think you’re anything less than wonderful,” Fraser said earnestly. “You have my word.”

 

“Okay, all right. Okay. Just…” Ray slowly unwound his arms from Fraser’s back. He shifted under him. “Here. Turn over.”

 

Fraser obliged, settling back against the pillow.

 

“Good, that’s…that’s good.” Ray rolled up and over him, his legs straddling Fraser’s hips. He leaned down over Fraser and kissed him briefly on the mouth, then inched back and laid his lips sweetly on Fraser’s chest, there and there, and _there—_dear God, he’d found Fraser’s nipple and started tonguing it expertly. He went after the other nipple with just as much enthusiasm, and Fraser heard someone moaning aloud for long, long moments before he realized he himself was making those desperate sounds.

 

Ray chuckled delightedly but didn’t slow his downward motion. He crawled lower, settling his long frame in the vee of Fraser’s legs instead. He leaned down to trail kisses down the centerline of Fraser’s body, past his navel and southward, until he could rub his stubbled cheek against Fraser’s belly.

 

“So let me…I don’t want you to think I’m a…but just let me do this for you…” Ray murmured into Fraser’s abdomen.

 

Surely he didn’t mean…oh, God. _Oh…._

Ray wrapped his hand around Fraser’s cock, leaned over it, and gently took it into his mouth.

 

Oh, _God…_Ray’s _mouth. _So soft, so wet, so warm…Fraser heard a shout, dimly echoing, and realized after a moment it had come from him.

 

It didn’t deter Ray, who seemed intent on taking Fraser’s cock right down his throat—dear God, was he actually…? Yes, Ray’s throat muscles moved convulsively, as though he was swallowing. Fraser felt the head of his cock touch the back of Ray’s throat, making Ray gag a little, but oddly, Ray didn’t look at all distressed. He appeared to be concentrating. His throat relaxed infinitesimally around Fraser and suddenly Fraser was all the way in.

 

He hadn’t realized that could actually be done. He had time to think that one thought before all thought was gone and he was thrusting raggedly, uncontrollably, into Ray’s mouth, into his throat. Ray eased back just enough to breathe and then swallowed him again, his eyelids drooping closed in pleasure—could it be? Ray seemed stretched to his utmost, not only physically—yet he betrayed no sign of distress.

 

He pulled up and off Fraser with a wet smacking sound and gasped, “You like that, Frase? That good?”

 

“Good,” was all Fraser could manage to say, breathlessly. “but don’t let me hurt you—”

 

Ray smiled at him knowingly. “You won’t hurt me. I’m a big boy, Fraser. C’mon. Let go. Just let it go.” He swallowed Fraser’s cock again, all the way, and one of his strong, long-fingered hands wrapped itself warmly, gently, around Fraser’s balls.

 

Fraser’s hips moved convulsively, thrusting up into Ray’s mouth and throat. Ray heaved himself up onto his hands and knees and bent his head down over Fraser’s groin as he took him deep, again and again.

 

Fraser didn’t even have to thrust any more, because Ray was leaning over him, pushing his mouth down on him and sliding back, down and back, more shallowly now, as though he really wanted to taste Fraser. Ray’s lips circled him tightly; Ray’s tongue moved on him, massaging the underside of his cock and playing over the sensitive, exposed head.

 

Fraser felt himself getting closer to the edge, the way one gets closer and closer to the edge of a waterfall and feels oneself falling long before one actually goes over: he was going, he was going over, he was there, but not quite…he was shouting, it was too much. It was too much pleasure and he couldn’t hold it all inside. He was going to explode in Ray’s mouth, and he couldn’t do _that— _he _shouldn’t_—but he was going to, anyway, because Ray wasn’t letting go of him.

 

He tried to pull back, but his hips wouldn’t cooperate, they wanted to go forward, pushing his cock into Ray, and Ray wasn’t helping matters, Ray was drinking Fraser down the way he chugged water on a hot Chicago summer day.

 

Fraser’s balls were tight, full, drawn up all the way; they nudged Ray’s lower lip, pulsing, and that was it, there was no going back; Fraser was going over the edge this time for real. Every muscle in his body went tight and he spasmed hard.

 

He felt his climax rush out of him and into Ray, spurting into Ray’s lovely mouth, again and again, and over the rushing in his ears, he could actually hear Ray swallowing, swallowing…

 

Pleasure seeped around Fraser like honey and it wasn’t too much to bear any more, it was heaven, sweet heaven, and he was warm, he was cradled in it, in Ray’s arms, in Ray’s mouth.

 

Ray wanted him. Ray took him all the way in and drank him down, and Ray _wanted_ him. The simple thought drew another gush of fluid from him, which Ray lapped up eagerly.

 

Fraser spasmed again, one last time. He was throbbing, tingling; he was a raw nerve, and the lingering pleasure would be pain in a moment if he didn’t pull away. Ray eased back, gently, but just before Fraser would have pulled free, he felt Ray’s tongue again, on the most sensitive part of him: he was still shuddering, and Ray licked all over the head of his cock as though he didn’t want to miss a drop.

 

_“Ray—”_ he groaned from deep in his chest, or his belly, or maybe his soul, and Ray let him go then, pulling off him gently, and all Fraser could see was his lips, those beautiful reddened lips that had been around him, and Ray’s sweet tongue snaking out to lick one last milky drop from the corner of his mouth.

 

Then Ray was climbing him, back up the way he’d come before, kissing his way up Fraser’s chest to his neck, his jaw, his mouth, making Fraser writhe under him even though he felt thoroughly spent, his limbs leaden, his heart still pounding, his breath rasping in his ears.

 

Ray licked into his mouth and Fraser tasted himself on Ray’s tongue, thick and faintly bitter.

 

“That was some…drink of…warm milk, there, Frase.” Ray breathed raggedly against his mouth. “Been a while, eh?” A warm, wet swipe of Ray’s tongue just under Fraser’s jaw accompanied the words and trailed up to Fraser’s ear.

 

“Yes, _oh—_” Fraser bit off a strangled-sounding moan. A long time? There’d never been a time like this. He tried to say that to Ray, but it didn’t come out very coherent. “Nothing like _that,_ never before, ever,” he managed.

 

“Oops,” Ray chuckled into his ear, softly but breathily, and not sounding apologetic in the least. “Warned you about Ray’s talented hand. Forgot to warn you about Ray’s mouth.” His tongue snaked into Fraser’s ear and outlined the whorls, making shivers chase themselves over Fraser’s entire skin.

 

“And tongue—” Fraser breathed.

 

“That, too…” Ray trailed his agile tongue down under Fraser’s ear and onto his throat, tracing the sternocleidomastoid tendons down to the collarbone and along it to catch in the vee below the vocal cords. Ray laid a kiss there, and his lips were incredibly soft…oh, Fraser knew _exactly _how soft those enticing lips were. He knew, now.

 

No one could take that knowledge away from him.

 

He lifted his hand with effort and sank his fingers into Ray’s hair. “My God, Ray, you—”

 

He felt Ray’s smile against his chest. “That was good, huh, Frase?”

 

“Oh, my. I have no words.”

 

Ray’s hand smoothed over Fraser’s belly. “I’m glad. That’s what I wanted—you deserve _good_, Frase. You deserve it like that, every time. From someone who loves you. That’s how it should be.”

 

Fraser knew to the core of his being that it was true, Ray was right. That was how it should be.

 

He carded his fingers through Ray’s hair, absently noting how soft it actually was, in contrast to its rather aggressive appearance. Rather like Ray himself, in fact, Fraser thought. He appeared bristly and spiky and tough on the surface, but it took very little probing to reveal the kind, generous, yielding soul beneath.

 

Ray pushed his head into Fraser’s hand as though asking for more of the petting, like a cat. Fraser complied for a moment, then moved his hand lower to cup Ray’s neck and then to stroke the soft, thick skin of his back. He brought his other hand up to explore as well—there were Ray’s wiry muscles, his prominent vertebrae, and even his ribs, which could be felt easily under the skin because of Ray’s slenderness.

 

Ray squirmed against him as though something tickled, and it wasn’t until that moment that Fraser felt the heat and weight of Ray’s still-firm erection prodding his thigh.

 

Oh, dear. Ray must think him impossibly rude, mustn’t he?

 

Fraser dropped his hand down over the modest curves of Ray’s enticing buttocks and slid back up, stopping at the jut of Ray’s hipbone. “Ray, you’re still—”

 

“Still saluting the Queen?” Ray lifted his head off Fraser’s chest and grinned up at him. His face seemed lit from within. “You bet I’m saluting her. She’s got Mounties like you working for her, she deserves a salute or two.”

 

Fraser cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d let me…er…you’d allow me to, ah…”

 

“You want to touch me, Frase?” Ray said, sounding hesitant again. “I mean, you—you okay with that?”

 

He needed to ask that, now? “Ray, I just let you…”

 

“Yeah, I know, but a lot of guys’ll _let_ you…that don’t mean they want to, you know, do you too.”

 

“Ray, surely you don’t put me in that category.”

 

“Well, no, I mean…no, of course not, you’re _polite,_ you’re Canadian, but you never…anyway, it’s my own fault that didn’t get me off just now…I mean sucking you, I almost…but I held back…”

 

“I’m glad,” Fraser breathed up close against Ray’s skin, feeling wanton. “I’d like to…reciprocate.”

 

Ray looked at him uncertainly. “You don’t have to, you know.”

 

Fraser drew back, perplexed, but he doubted that Ray’s erection, persistent though it was, would last while he puzzled out Ray’s peculiar lack of confidence in this area.

 

Perhaps it would be enough for Fraser to demonstrate his willingness.

 

“Is it all right if I want to?”

 

“Uh, sure.” Ray’s shy grin returned slowly. “If you really want to, I am all over that.”

 

Fraser hooked his hands under Ray’s armpits and hauled him up, pulling Ray so that they faced each other on their sides. He cupped his hand under Ray’s chin. “Do you wish, er, reciprocation in like kind, or would you be open to something else?”

 

Ray blinked and gave his head one sharp shake. “Say that in American? I mean, so a dumb flatfoot can understand.”

 

“There isn’t any ‘dumb flatfoot’ here, Ray, but what I mean is, do you want me to do what you did to me, or would you prefer something else?”

 

Ray huffed a little laugh. “I’m hard enough to pound nails. Won’t take long no matter what you do.”

 

Fraser looked down between their bodies and his mouth went dry. Oh, _yes_. It wasn’t a perfect view, since Ray lay so close to him, but it was enough to see that Ray did indeed look hard enough to pound...something.Fraser felt his own cock twitch in sympathy, and wondered if he were about to become erect again as well. He wasn’t sure it was possible, but his body was giving every indication that it was certainly going to try.

 

He looked back up into amused gray eyes. “I’d like to make it very good for you, Ray. You deserve that, too, you know.”

 

“Go for it, Frase.”

 

Fraser smoothed his thumb over Ray’s lips.

 

Ray let his lips part; he caught Fraser’s thumb gently between his teeth and touched his tongue to it.

 

Fraser shivered, remembering that tongue on his cock so recently. Ray should have that. He should experience the ecstasy he’d so willingly given Fraser.

 

Fraser moved his thumb out of the way and brought his lips close to Ray’s. “Anything?” he whispered against them.

 

Ray nodded. “Anything, Frase. I trust you.”

 

Fraser had to swallow hard to keep his throat from closing up. He eased Ray over on his back, stretching out on top of him, his legs between Ray’s, supporting his own weight partially on his knees and elbows. He leaned down and touched his lips to Ray’s.

 

Ray’s mouth opened immediately under his, and Fraser lost no time driving his tongue inside firmly. Ray had taken Fraser’s cock down his throat. He would not quail at a little aggressive kissing.

 

He didn’t. Ray’s body went taut with pleasure; he was like a live wire strung under Fraser, popping and crackling with energy.

 

Fraser propped himself on his elbows and pinched both of Ray’s nipples simultaneously; Ray gasped into his mouth and bucked under him.

 

“Oh, God, Fraser! Do me, do me,” Ray gasped when he came up for air. “Do anything, just _touch _me.”

 

Fraser dragged his open mouth down Ray’s chest and onto his belly, then he knelt up between Ray’s legs and looked his fill at Ray’s large, firm erection. The skin was deep, dusky pink shading to purplish at the exposed head. The skin looked stretched to its utmost. A little whitish mark on the frenulum had to be the scar from Ray’s circumcision.

 

It would still be the most sensitive part, Fraser thought. He lowered his head and ran his tongue down the faint ridge of the frenulum to the head. The petal-soft skin quivered under his touch; he breathed Ray’s deep, sweet scent. Clear fluid welled from the slit and Fraser went after it with his tongue, lapping Ray up, drinking Ray in.

 

Ray’s pre-ejaculate was soft, very faintly bitter, like water, but with a consistency more like glycerin; he’d never tasted anything quite like it. He wanted more. He tongued the slit carefully, letting just the tip of his tongue penetrate it—it was slightly warmer inside and the skin was so tender he wouldn’t have believed it possible.

 

His own cock throbbed and he felt it fill and stiffen. Another impossible thing, he’d have thought, after the way he’d spent himself in Ray’s mouth.

 

“Fra-a-a-aser,” Ray moaned, and his hips thrashed.

 

Fraser cupped a hand under Ray’s balls and lowered his mouth to take in one, then the other, gently. He closed his fist around Ray’s thick shaft and pumped once, experimentally, eliciting another desperate-sounding groan from Ray.

 

Ray’s hips thrust in a stuttering, broken rhythm, as though he were trying not to thrust. “Do it, do it, do it,” Ray seemed to be muttering; his fingers slid into Fraser’s hair and clutched hard, making little points of pain in Fraser’s scalp.

 

“You can move,” Fraser whispered breathlessly around Ray’s cock. “Show me. Do what you need to do.”

 

Ray’s fingers tightened on Fraser’s head. He thrust into Fraser’s mouth, and Fraser made himself open, made himself take it the way Ray had taken him, deeply. He gagged hard, pulling back to get himself under control.

 

“Hey, don’t—” Ray panted. “Don’t try that yet. Takes practice. Just your mouth, for now, your tongue. And your hand.”

 

It took practice. Ray had _practiced_ —it boggled the mind.

 

Fraser would have to practice, then. Later.

 

If Ray let him. If Ray wanted him again.

 

He lowered his mouth and took Ray in again, but just to a few inches’ depth this time, wrapping his hand around the shaft just below his lips and pulling up, back down, up again, the way Ray had done to him. He tongued the head at the same time.

 

“Oh!” Ray shouted. “Frase—Fraser—right there, yes! Oh, God, Christ, oh, fuck—” Ray’s entire body went taut; he dug his heels into the mattress and arched his back, and Fraser maneuvered around quickly—he had to see Ray’s face when he came. When _Fraser_ made him come.

 

Ray’s thrusts went ragged and his breathing harshened. He thumped Fraser on the head with his fingertips and gasped out, “Let go, Fraser, I’m gonna…I can’t hold it, I’m gonna come—”

 

Fraser lifted his free hand to cover one of Ray’s, their fingers twining in among the strands of his hair. He held Ray’s hand tight, showing Ray he wanted this, he wanted him to come down Fraser’s throat as Fraser had down Ray’s.

 

He watched as Ray’s face scrunched up, then slackened, first in comprehension and then in ecstatic release. When the first thick, bitter gush of fluid touched Fraser’s throat, he almost coughed and had to pull off, but he swallowed just in time, and then swallowed again and yet again as Ray gave him more.

 

Ray gasped, then inhaled sharply; he was becoming too sensitive. Fraser eased off him and licked a long swipe up his softening cock, over the head and onto his belly, up the midline of his body, all the way to his mouth. Ray’s lips met his eagerly. Ray’s body hadn’t relaxed totally, though he certainly seemed much quieter than before. He still quivered with something that Fraser couldn’t quite identify—not excitement or fear or happiness…but it wasn’t far different from any of them, either.

 

Ray pushed his tongue into Fraser’s mouth without hesitation, tasting himself on Fraser’s tongue just as Fraser had done. Fraser smiled and thrust a little, humping the bed and then Ray’s leg. He was hard again, quite hard. It was a surprise—and not necessarily a good one, he thought, since Ray must be thoroughly exhausted at this point.

 

But Ray’s hand closed around his cock even as he held the thought, and Ray wrapped his other arm tight around Fraser and pulled him close.

 

“Oh, yeah, you’re back for more,” Ray murmured sleepily in his ear. “Way to play, Fraser. I knew you’d be randy as a…um, as a wolf.” He stroked Fraser smoothly, up and down, making Fraser shiver with renewed pleasure.

 

But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. Ray had to be fresh for the morning’s work and then the long drive.

 

“Ray, I can see you’re tired. You don’t have to—”

 

“I’d have to be half-dead to want to miss this,” Ray countered, his strokes speeding up slightly. “What do you want, Fraser? What would feel best right now?”

 

“I don’t—I don’t know, Ray. I haven’t much experience with this sort of…”

 

“You’re trying to say you haven’t been with a guy before.”

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

“I figured. Only girls, huh? Even though you run away from them?”

 

Fraser sighed. “I only…” he swallowed. “run away from gentle females. I seem to gravitate toward dangerous ones.”

 

“I noticed.” Ray’s lips curved. “And that is a conversation for another time, my friend. What I was getting at…a guy gets as hard as you are now…with a girl he wants to, you know…”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Fuck,” Ray said. “He wants to fuck. That what you’d like?”

 

“Well, I don’t want a girl, Ray. I want _you_.”

 

“You can _not_ be that naïve, Fraser. It’s not possible. You know what I’m saying.”

 

“Ray, I wouldn’t ask you to…”

 

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

 

“What, exactly?”

 

“Fuck me,” Ray said.

 

The blood pounded in Fraser’s ears. He grabbed Ray’s wrist and held it still, desperately.

 

Ray released him, putting his hand on Fraser’s chest instead. “Oh, so you liked that idea, huh?”

 

“Ray…”

 

“You liked it,” Ray said. He sounded absolutely sure.

 

“Very well, then, I liked it,” Fraser said.

 

Ray grinned, but Fraser laid a finger across those enticing lips.

 

“Wait, Ray. I liked it, but that doesn’t mean we should attempt it. It’s a big step, and besides, just on a practical level, aren’t there certain, er, supplies we would need? We should wait.”

 

“Fraser, I, uh…I got what we need in my duffel. Not that I’ve had the chance to use it…uh, them in a long time, but, you know, where there’s life there’s hope, so I leave the stuff in there.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I want you to.”

 

His eyes seemed so large and brilliant in the semi-darkness. Fraser couldn’t look away. “You’re sure, Ray? Wouldn’t it be better to wait until we’re…home?”

 

Ray smiled at that, and Fraser knew why.

 

“You called Chicago home,” Ray said very softly.

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“I get that,” Ray said. “And I love that you said that. But, look. I’m Ray Kowalski tonight. Here, in Minneapolis, I’m Ray Kowalski. You know what I mean? And when the car crosses over the Illinois state line tomorrow—zap! I’m Vecchio again.”

 

“Oh. Oh, I see.” Fraser’s heart sank, like a stone, like an anchor, like the _Henry Allen_. Ray was saying he _wouldn’t,_ as Ray Vecchio. Fraser understood that; Ray was being honorable. Ray Vecchio’s reputation was entrusted to him, and he would safeguard it.

 

He had to be strong. He wanted Ray so much, but if Ray wasn’t willing to carry this further, what was the point? It was going to be agonizing enough as it was. If they…did as Ray asked, how much harder would it be for Fraser to go back to being merely Ray’s cop-partner and friend?

 

He wondered whether they’d be able to work together, now that they knew, and he understood now why Ray had asked him so urgently, after the buddy-breathing incident, whether anything between them had changed.

 

Because if Fraser acknowledged that it _had _been a kiss, it would have changed everything. It would have brought them to this juncture, offered them this difficult choice.

 

Now, because Fraser had seen what he’d seen, and because he and Ray had acted on what they felt, everything was irrevocably changed, beyond their ability to deny.

 

“So we _should_ do it now,” Ray was saying, oblivious to Fraser’s distress.

 

Fraser’s body, however, was not oblivious to his distress, and the argument was now moot: his erection was gone. “Ray, I’m sorry.” Over Ray’s shoulder he caught sight of the glowing numbers on the alarm clock. It was after midnight. He sighed, a little raggedly. “I…I’m afraid I can’t just now.”

 

Ray’s hand stuttered down Fraser’s belly, touching him, finding him soft. “Oh…oh, Jeez. What’d I say? What?”

 

Fraser swallowed hard. “It’s not important, Ray. It’s…it’s not that I’m not willing.”

 

“I can get you hard again,” Ray said hopefully. But his eyes reflected Fraser’s distress.

 

“Ray…another time,” Fraser hedged.

 

“You don’t want to.” Ray’s tongue snaked out and licked his lips as though he was trying to gather up the last of Fraser’s taste.

 

“I _do. _I do want to, Ray.”

 

“Then let’s try.”

 

Fraser sighed. “We can’t. Not tonight. You drove all day today; you have your…duty…and then you’ll drive the same distance tomorrow. You do have to sleep tonight, Ray.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“You need to be—what do you call it? ‘On your game’ in the morning.”

 

“Fingering that perp?” He snorted. “I’m fine with it, Fraser. I told you, I told Welsh. I’m good. Guy won’t even see me. I ID him, I sign the forms, we leave.”

 

Fraser searched his face. Ray’s expression was calm, certain. He’d be fine. But there was the matter of all the driving, and Fraser certainly knew Ray wouldn’t want him “walking in a vehicle” all the way back to Chicago. “You shouldn’t drive eight hours on less than a good night’s sleep. What you…ask for will take time. We shouldn’t.”

 

“So that’s it?”

 

Fraser couldn’t tolerate the disappointment on Ray’s face one moment longer. He smoothed Ray’s hair back from his forehead and bent to kiss him thoroughly. “Only for tonight, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, well, we do it tomorrow night you’ll be fucking Ray Vecchio, and I know he don’t do that.”

 

“Of course not. He’s straight, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Which, that is kind of my point.”

 

“Furthermore, I’m not in love with him.”

 

Ray started. “You’re saying…”

 

“That I’m in love with you. Yes.”

 

Ray’s smile crept back, a millimeter at a time. “Really?”

 

Fraser nodded. “Ray Kowalski, I’m in love with you. I still will be tomorrow, even in Illinois.”

 

Ray wrapped his hands around the back of Fraser’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. When he came up to breathe, he whispered. “I’m in love with you, too, Benton Fraser.”

 

Fraser nuzzled him under the chin, enjoying the way Ray flinched, obviously ticklish, and smiled.

 

“And I know who you are,” Fraser persisted. “You will still be Ray Kowalski to me in Illinois.”

 

Ray sighed and pushed a hand through his unkempt hair. “Problem is, I’ll be Ray Vecchio to everybody else.”

 

“Surely you’re allowed some privacy, some private time.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“I’m suggesting that we...” Fraser bowed his head. Dear God, Ray was right. What had Fraser been thinking?

 

“Go on,” Ray said. “Finish that thought.”

 

“No, you’re right,” Fraser said, feeling deflated in more ways than one.

 

“Tell me,” Ray urged.

 

“I was about to suggest we carry on a clandestine affair. It was wrong of me; I’m sorry.”

 

But there was a new glint in Ray’s eyes, replacing the sadness. “You were really going to suggest that? You? Benton Fraser?”

 

“Yes. I…I want you so much that…well, it doesn’t feel wrong. It isn’t our fault that some people negatively judge others for loving someone of the same sex. It doesn’t…my grandmother always said that if the SS knocks at the door and you lie and tell them you aren’t hiding a Jew in the basement, you’re not _guilty_ of lying, because you’ve done a good deed. A lie can be a moral act.”

 

Ray raised one long forefinger to trace the outline of Fraser’s features: the ridge of his brow around to the temple, his cheekbone, the tight muscle over his jaw. “God, Fraser, that’s…wow. That’s really stepping outside the Mountie box. You’re starting to understand the big gray area between black and white.”

 

Ray had no idea how far down the slippery slope Fraser had fallen in the past. “You’re more honorable than I, Ray.”

 

Ray cracked a smile. “You think it’s about honor?”

 

“Of course. What else could it be about?”

 

“I wasn’t thinking about honor,” Ray said.

 

“You weren’t? Then why…”

 

“Because I don’t want to have to hide it. Maybe because I’m afraid I can’t.”

 

“Ray, you’re an accomplished undercover policeman. If anyone can do it, you can.”

 

Ray sighed. “Hiding a relationship, that’s tough. People already talk about you and me, and I think it’s only Vecchio’s arrow-straight rep that’s kept them off my tail so far. Probably never occurred to them Welsh’d take a queer cop in Vecchio’s place.”

 

“Lieutenant Welsh has never seemed interested in the details of the private lives of any of his people, as long as they don’t negatively affect the police department.”

 

“I know he’s fair,” Ray said, “and I don’t think he’s a prejudiced kind of guy, not at all. Just…there are a lot of cops who think queers don’t belong on the force. Which, obviously I’m kind of bi, but you know. Anything less than straight as a yardstick is ‘queer.’” His tongue snaked out to wet his lips. Fraser watched, feeling a little mesmerized.

 

“So…I kind of have to fly under the radar,” Ray went on. “Keep moping about Stella when I see her—which, that is not hard to do, seeing as it still hurts like a son of a bitch when she, um…you know, when she…”

 

“I know.”

 

“When she won’t even talk to me. Or when she expects the worst. When she don’t trust me. So that part, that’s not really an act.”

 

“I know,” Fraser said again. “When she speaks harshly to you, I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her off.”

 

Ray chuckled a little breathlessly. “I would pay good money to see that. You know, you’re full of surprises tonight.”

 

“No more than you.”

 

“What? I’m an open book. Especially to you.”

 

“I didn’t know you’d be open to…this.” He stroked his hand over Ray’s flank, loving the way Ray stretched, catlike, under his touch.

 

“God, I thought I was so obvious,” Ray said. “I thought I had ‘queer’ branded on my forehead and ‘I love Fraser’ branded on my ass.”

 

“Not at all. Ray…” Fraser swallowed hard. “I really do think we could be…discreet.”

 

“Yeah?” Hope dawned in Ray’s changeable eyes.

 

“Yeah.” Fraser smiled and tightened his arms around Ray, a little surprised when Ray hugged him back almost hard enough to bruise.

 

“Frase, God…I don’t want to lose this,” Ray said.

 

“Neither do I.”

 

“Then, tomorrow…okay, look. Talk to me. In the car on the way back. Talk to me about how we could make it work. I want to find a way.”

 

There _was_ hope, then. And Fraser had both time and Ray’s desire for him on his side.

 

“Yes,” Fraser said. “I will, Ray. Now sleep.” He yanked the blanket up over them, not caring how messy they were, and kissed him until he dropped off to sleep in Fraser’s arms.

 

The last thing he saw before succumbing himself was his hand curled protectively over Ray’s strong shoulder, preternaturally pale in the moonlight, defiantly inked with the so-appropriate word _Champion, _and beautiful, so beautiful.
    
    
    _Au clair de la lune,_
    
    
    
    _On n’y voit q’un peu:_
    
    
    
    _On chercha la plume,_
    
    
    
    _On chercha le feu._
    
    
    
    _En cherchant d’la sorte_
    
    
    
    _Je n’sais c’qu’on trouva,_
    
    
    
    _Mais j’sais que la porte_
    
    
    
    _Sur eux se ferma._
    

 

—fin—

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [get_fraser_laid](http://community.livejournal.com/getfraserlaid/)
> 
> _Prompt: 50. Fraser/Kowalski—sleeping in the same room, or camping out. Fraser wakes up and realizes that Ray is masturbating. Something must be done._  
> Notes: Kisses to justbreathe80 for her neverending patience!  
> Acknowledgment: A thousand thanks to aukestrel for a quick and sensitive beta and, even more important, for handholding and for shoring up my flagging confidence when I really, really needed it. What's more, she gave me outright several great phrases and one truly terrific line (which I will reveal if anyone quotes it), and as usual I am touched by her generosity and kindness.


End file.
